Favorite Waste of Time
by Of Wolves And Dogs
Summary: If you're going to be Lost, might as well be Damned, too. Angus x Terry


**summary: **If you're going to be Lost, might as well be Damned, too.

**pairing: **Angus Martin x Terrence Thorpe

**based off the line: **"We had fun here."

**a/n: **I don't see a lot of The Lost and Damned works out there! So I am here to fatten the fan base up. I chose Terry and Angus, because honestly...every time Terry is by Angus he seriously cannot keep his hands off of the man. Plus, these two side characters need some love.

**Favorite Waste of Time  
**_GTA IV: The Lost and Damned_  
**Written By:** Of Wolves and Dogs

"_You have forsaken all the love you've taken  
__Sleeping on a razor, there's nowhere left to fall  
__Your body's aching, every bone is breaking  
__Nothing seems to shake it, it just keeps holding on  
_

_Your soul is able, death is all you cradle  
__Sleeping on the nails, there's nowhere left to fall  
__You have admired, every man desires  
__Everyone is king when there's no one left to pawn  
_

_There is no peace here, war is never cheap here  
__Love will never need it, it just gets sold for parts  
__You cannot fight it, all the world denies it  
__Open up your eyelids and let your demons run."_

_Beat The Devil's Tattoo _by **B.R.M.C. (Black Rebel Motorcycle Club)**

* * *

With him behind him, Angus felt as if he could truly stand once again.

Teeth clipped his shoulder that was covered in inked designs, devouring his sun-kissed skin and refusing to let any inch of his upper body remain bare. They were like medals being permanently threaded into his skin, as the teeth from his 'brother' tested and prodded at the tattoos' defenses. In the end his inked medals won, remaining resilient and Angus Martin supposed there was something rather symbolic or metaphorical about this all. His literal and constantly-chugging skull tried to decipher and tear apart what it truly meant, but those teeth...so distracting.

An arm remained firmly wrapped around his abdomen, fingers firmly latching into his skin so its grip never slipped or tightened too much to the point of discomfort. It was a gesture that went noticed by the pure blonde and unnoticed by the dirty blonde who continued to nip at every area around his shoulder and neck. Angus wanted to shoot dark words for the younger male to hurry up and that he wasn't getting any younger, but he should know better when it came to Terry.

While Terry was quick to find you when you need backup, guns, a good drink, etc. he was ungodly slow when it came to a goddamn fuck. It was like being tossed into a museum and wanting to get out as soon as possible, but you have to wait for your mother to stare and ponder over each and every piece of art. Although the analogy...isn't as fantastic as Angus would like it to be, because Terry loathed museums and would mumble about 'government-paid and oppressed shit on display,' - ugh shit, where was he going with this again?

Can you blame him though?

Those teeth...goddamn distracting...

"Am I boring you, Mr. Martin," Terry mocked somewhere behind his ear, hot breath burning with amusement as fingers curled around the base of his manhood.

The older male by two years stiffened immediately in attention, dead muscles in his leg vibrating with waking life that only Terrence Thorpe could bring. Women were appetizing, but they never accomplished much. They left him with the lasting effects alcohol gives him: the ability to easily forget. Terry, however, left him tantalizing addiction and physical obsession - something he would have hardly expected out of the Sergeant-at-Arms.

"Just a little bit," Angus managed to bite back with regal control, but it was all lost when his words fell into a raspy moan. His own hands held himself up by gluing themselves onto the wall, nonexistent fingernails digging into the plaster. He knew if he released his hands from the wall he would still be standing, but it was out of habit now. Billy took his legs, and years without them has torn him apart into a bitter and distrustful son of a bitch. There were only a few he could trust, and leave it to Terry fucking Thorpe to always be around and creative despite the fact things shouldn't be the same.

Terry should have shrugged his shoulders and realize that he could never have what they had behind closed doors now that Angus was crippled. He should have moved on and let him be - a sort of awkward treatment would have been expected between the two.

No.

Terry came to him after he emerged from the hospital, gave his crooked grin with a pussy light cigarette between his lips and went, "Ah, after eleven years I finally get to top without you kicking my ass. Tough luck, old man."

Little git.

It wasn't always like this - it's not supposed to be like this. While The Lost Brotherhood are not as stuck-up, racist, tight-assed as those Deadbeats (The Angels of Death), there was a tinge of homophobia amongst the MC. Once a taboo, always a taboo. Angus was quite sure that if things didn't play out the way they did thirteen or so years ago he would be back in the clubhouse getting a peepshow by one of the Lost's "ardent female fans."

Funny way how life always tends to be unpredictable.

It was raining when he first met the brat. He came in to the doorstep of the clubhouse soaking wet, nineteen years old, dirty blonde hair, and dark lines of a tattoo peeking from his shirt on his neck. A few of the brothers chuckled under their breaths as they sat comfortably at the bar, drinking their whiskey as if it was water as they peered at him with laughing eyes.

The MC had a pulse, filled with members who were either in their early twenties to early forties. They were all thriving and living the Brotherhood code, and in turn it attracted a younger audience. So many wanted to be part of The Lost because they were enamored by its wild and vicious image, but only a select few are capable of going through the process towards earning a patched jacket.

Angus scoffed from where he sat, knowing the usual routine and waiting for one of the senior members to kindly escort the kid to daycare. With that in mind, he returned to his conversation with Jim about how he is going to start setting in connections and dealers for himself and The Lost. He had an idea that would utilize his bike thieving skills to its maximum and bring in the dough to the MC.

"What the fuck you want, kid?" Johnny walked into the bar, glancing briefly at the woman that was rubbing herself against the pole in the cage. The man turned his attention back to the blonde before squinting his eyes in mild displeasure, "How the fuck did you get in here without getting your ass handed to you?"

"I need to talk to Billy -"

"Don't make me laugh, kid. Kids your age need a permission slip signed by your mom before you can see him," Johnny bit back with cold humor, a few of the other members who were paying any attention laughing.

"Give him a break, Johnny. This is Colin's kid brother," someone intervened from behind the youth, standing at a towering height with black hair matted on his head and a skull tattoo devouring the right side of his face. The 1% gleamed brightly on the skull's forehead and seemed to shine brighter when the taller and older male smiled, hand resting on Terry's shoulder. Despite the fact Dirty Sue looked like he should belong in a circus or prison with the outrageous tattoos that littered his body, he was one of the mellower brothers of The Lost. "At least let Billy tear him apart before you do," he smirked before walking off deeper into the clubhouse.

Johnny heaved out a sigh in defeat, staring suspiciously at Terry before shrugging his shoulders in defeat, "Hmph, so you're related to "Crazy" Collin, eh? Well don't I feel fuckin' bad for you. You stay here." Firmly pointing at where he was now with his finger, the biker walked off to find Billy Grey.

"Crazy" Colin Thorpe was one bizarre man. Had a deranged glint in his eye and would believe he was acting under the hand of God. Despite the fact everything bursting from his mouth was some sort of psychotic bullshit, he had his home in The Lost, having pulled his younger sibling into his love for motorcycles and disaster. Billy Grey couldn't have been more pleased to hear of another Thorpe on his doorstep, jauntily leaving his winning game of pool to meet the youngest Thorpe.

"Ha ha! You must be Terrence, eh? Going to call you Terry, son," Billy already was bursting into speech the minuet he turned the corner, the blonde blinking stupidly for a minuet before jerking his head in a nod. "Are you as fucking bat shit crazy as your brother? Worse? Going to foam from the mouth and start praying to some fucking saint?" the President of The Lost laughed heartily, slapping Terry on the shoulder to the point where he almost lost his balance.

"No, sir," the nineteen year old began when he regained his ground, "I'm here to be a part of The Lost."

The air become heavy with pungent silence as Billy's features slowly become a serious mask, his hand on Terry's shoulder tightening into an iron grip. The President moved closer, working his jaw as those animalistic eyes stared at him dead on, "You want to join? This isn't some Peter Pan bullshit, my friend. We aren't the Lost Boys throwing rocks at pirates, dancing around a fucking campfire, and all that other pussy bullshit. The minuet you join...is the minuet you better accept the fact that your life expectancy just dropped.

You _will_ get hurt.

You _will_ bleed.

You _will_ get fucked up.

You _will_ be chased by the police.

You _will_ be examined by the government.

Your life _will_ be in the hands of The Lost. Brothers for life, Lost forever. Comprendo, amigo?"

The brothers near the area raised their drinks and gave a 'hear, hear' at their President's speech; Terry only stood his ground with a frown and clenched fists. Billy gave a closed-mouthed smile, releasing the blonde's shoulder and awarding it a friendly pat. "If you can understand that, you need to undergo a couple of...'tests' with some of the brothers of this fine establishment," the older male smirked, stepping back to eye his surroundings before giving a quiet nod to himself.

"Know how to handle a bike, son?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's your poison?"

"Navy 1989 Diabolus."

"Hmph. Not bad. Same brand as Angus - isn't that right, Angus?"

The older blonde bit his tongue from where he sat at the bar, leaning back and giving a nod. Goddamn. He knew where this was getting at. Fuck. The kid just _had _to drive a fucking Diabolus around the same fucking year. Shit. He hated babysitting the tryouts. Mumbling out a curse, the newly twenty-two year old slid off of the bar stool and made his way towards Billy and Terry.

"Terry, I would like you to meet Angus. He's been with us for two years now and is our best thief in Liberty City. He could probably steal your mother's panties without her even knowing," Billy laughed, Angus cocking a brow at the ill joke but gave a nod appreciatively. "Angus, I want you to see if this kid can actually ride. You know what to do if he fails..."

Angus gave a nod, ignoring the taunting Johnny was currently giving him, promptly flipping him off as he headed toward the door.

The blonde ran a hand through his hair, the sides shaved and resembling a birthed mohawk in the makings. The rain made the front of his hair cling onto the tip of his forehead as he moved through the bikes that had a few tarps throw haphazardly on some. Only senior brothers and brothers with titles got to keep their bikes safe and dry in the garage.

"This yours?" Angus asked, pointing to the perched bike of a heavy navy hue. Terry confirmed, standing nervously by the motorcycle as Angus crouched and examined her. The older male gave a hum in appreciation before standing up, already numerous of ways to make the bike choke on their next task came to mind. With a smirk, he moved over to his own, "Alright, one of the tests is to keep up with me. Think you can?"

Terry scoffed, "And if I get ahead of you?"

"Ain't gonna happen, I can promise you that," the blonde chuckled, mounting the bike and starting the engine. She purred happily underneath him, bright blue eyes staring through the rain to see Terry follow suit. He was going to trump this cocky yuppie and send him on the train tracks to join all the other sad casualties that become of the pathetic tryouts. "Try not to fall behind," Angus smirked before driving off, the blare of the youth's radio playing behind him.

He planned to take him through Alderny, familiar streets, than take him east to Algonquin, and finally Bohan. If he could keep up with him and make it through Bohan in the rain, than _maybe _the kid has a chance.

They rode in silence. There wasn't much to say and he wasn't about to strike up a conversation about meaningless nonsense with some tryout. However, he was quite impressed with the way Terry remained on his tail despite the congested traffic and random construction. Actually, he was driving a bit too well. The brat had good group riding skills...so it was time to bring out the big guns.

"Not bad, kid," Angus commented as he slowed a bit, waiting for Terry to drive beside him, "But anyone can follow the leader. How about we make this interesting?" Terry perked immediately, and in the dim lighting of the yellow light he could see that wolfish grin on his face. "How about we race? First person to The Triangle Club wins. Sounds easy enough?"

"Too easy," Terry laughed, the both of them remaining still at the red light, the older blonde cocking a brow in silent amusement at the youth. He couldn't wait to make the brat eat his own words. Giving a soft 'hmph', he turned back to the light, waiting patiently for it to turn a sick green. He knew the kid would follow him at least halfway through...and he had a plan to scare the brat off once and for all.

Green. _Go! _

The two were instantly neck-to-neck from the get-go, and both blondes stared heatedly at the other before leaning forward in unison. Their bikes were not known for their instant acceleration, but the top speed leaves all competitors in the dust. Angus was gonna test this kid to see if he had any balls, because in his eyes the kid looked like chicken shit.

Veering to his right, he eyed the subway that zoomed underneath them on the bridge. He could feel it shake the earth they rode on, and he could feel his tongue cling onto the roof of his mouth in excitement. If only he could see the kid's face when he does this.

Speeding up, noticing the construction barriers that warned drivers not to stray too close to the missing ramp that separated empty space, railway beneath, and the overpass, he could hear the blare of Liberty Rock still nearby. Ah, so he was still following? Smirking, he continued to drive straight, refusing to make the needed right to continue on with moving traffic.

Ladies and gentlemen, Angus Martin was airborne.

"_Holy fuck!" _

Terry was cursing somewhere above him as he landed roughly on the tracks, refusing to stop and look to see if the brat followed him. Instead he tightened his hold on his bike and sent it shooting forward once more, riding the left track, knowing victory will come in a matter of minuets now. It was too bad. Angus was sure "Crazy" Colin will throw some bizarre fit, claim it to be an injustice to God, get drunk, and forget it all happened in a matter of hours. Honestly, he wasn't quite sure how Terry and Colin were related... Terry didn't seem to have the guts that Colin -

_BAM! _

"What the -!" Angus exclaimed when his bike was hit roughly by the side, nearly sending him into the wall. Glaring at whatever struck him, he failed to see his attacker as they went through the tunnel, the roars of their engines deafening and reverberating.

Light hit the scene when the subway zoomed southbound, revealing a gleeful Terry that gave him a mocking salute. "Miss me?" he cooed, earning a rough hit from Angus's bike toward his own. Snarling, brows furrowing, he responded by leaning towards him, sparks shooting in the air as both metal contraptions struck each other. "I'm not going to lie to you," the dirty blonde admitted, glancing briefly at the frowning bike thief, "But this test fuckin' bites."

"If you say so," Angus replied before releasing one hand from the bar to loop his arm around Terry's neck in a headlock. Angus watched briefly, in cruel amusement, the youth instinctively release his bike to yank the arm down but instantly thought against it. Leaning to his right, Terry helplessly felt his bike and himself being pushed to the right track onto the path of oncoming subway trains.

"Fucking cunt! Let me go, asshole! Fucking fucker -"

Angus focused only on the balance of his own vehicle and waited patiently to hear the howling of the oncoming train. Emerging onto platformed tracks outside, rain slapped them both in the face, thunder booming ahead.

"- probably work for the government! Fucking take it up the ass, I bet -"

Foul mouthed kid, for sure, with some deep-seeded hatred for the government. Definitely Lost material if he manages to make it out of this predicament.

_Ah-ha!_

"Terry, shut the fuck up," Angus shouted over the rain, "You hear that?" Terry closed his mouth momentarily and nervously looked ahead of him, aware of the faint lights coming towards them in the distance. The call of the train soon filled the air and Angus could feel the boy's muscles in his neck stiffen and tighten. "That train is going fifty miles per hour, and we're going about seventy right now... Now that's going to fuckin' hurt," Angus smirked. Call him a hard ass, but that's how you get things done in this world. He didn't get into The Lost for being an upstanding citizen and helping old ladies walk across the street.

"Still wanna join The Lost?"

"The only thing lost is your fucking brain!" Terry shot back furiously, but there laid terror in his eyes at the speeding train heading their direction. Only thirty more seconds and he would become a splat of human remains.

Twenty more seconds...

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Think Terry. What to do?

Fifteen more seconds...

Isn't Angus going to get hit in the crossfire too?

Ten seconds left...

Terry felt his neck being released, his bike swerving slightly as Angus leaned to his left and moved out of harm's way in the nick of time. Terry cursed at the oncoming train before closing his eyes, releasing his hands from the bars of his motorcycle.

This was going to fucking hurt.

Angus heard the terrifying sound of the train demolishing the motorcycle, bursts of flames flickering in the air as the subway train screamed widely. To say he expected this to happen...was possibly a bit of a white lie. To the pathetic try outs that fail, usually he whoops their asses (or whoever is conducting the trial), bring then over to the subway station, and push them before the train. Terrence Thorpe wasn't, per se, pathetic but...

Nah. He was pathetic. Good riddance. Hopefully Colin won't be too pissed.

With that in mind to soothe his guilty conscience, he continued onward at a leisurely pace. The least he could do is spend some quality time at The Triangle Club. Hell, he might as well call Clay, Jim and Johnny to come and join him.

"Aw fuck my ass," was all Terry could utter when he landed on an SUV that honked mercilessly at him, having triggered the alarm. He did a bit of a leap of faith before his bike became demolished by a fucking tank of a subway train. He tossed himself off the tracks, prayed he would land on something soft and remain somewhat alive. Well...a car wasn't exactly soft, but it beat the pavement.

Pushing himself off the car after a few minuets, he limped weakly towards the middle of the road, right eye staring wearily at the slow traffic coming his way. When a Bati Custom came running in, he expectantly stepped in front of it, watching it screech to a wild halt.

"What the fuck, man! I'm trying to get to places -"

Terry shuffled forward, hastily grabbing the driver by the helmet and yanking him off the bike.

"Ah hellz naw! Uptown Riders is gonna hear about this shit! White cracker trying to -"

The dirty blonde threw his weak leg over and instantly revved it up, leaving the furious driver cursing at him from afar. He still had a race to win and he'd be damned if he let that fucking asshole walk away knowing he won. Fuck him. After this, he swore to god he was going to find a nice corner to slowly die in.

Every bone in his body ached, every nerve screamed, and he could feel blood running down his back. Honestly, a hospital sounded like the perfect place to go to...but strip club it is. Chuckling at the irony of it all, he whined as his ribs cried in protest at the gesture. So he grinded his teeth and moved onward, maneuvering through traffic with a bike that felt...bizarre under him. Too light...to jumpy.

Too fucking girly for his tastes. Give him the raw feeling of a chopper and the guttural sound of its engine roaring any day of the week. None of this...pussy shit.

Focusing on how fucking stupid this bike was and not the pain coursing through his system, he was pleased to see the pink neon lights of The Triangle Club. Giving a weak grin, he pulled into the parking lot and hunched over his bike, getting a questioning glare from the bouncer. Breathing softly and staring quietly at the green exterior of the bike, the sound of a Diabolus approaching made him lift his head.

There he was turning into the parking lot, just about to pass when he came to a screeching halt.

"Fuck," Angus heaved out breathlessly as he stared at a battered and bleeding Terrence Thorpe. Blinking stupidly, for the first time in his life, he could feel his heart come to a shuddering halt along with all brain function. This was impossible...this was fucking impossible. He should be dead! Gone! At least not hear!

"Aren't you supposed to congratulate the winner?" Terry taunted out with a raspy cough before passing out, aware of hands grabbing him instantaneously and dragging him off onto the familiar feel of the Diabolus.

_I thread the needle through_** - xxx -** _You beat the devil's tattoo_

Respect fell amongst the entire gang when they heard the story by Angus, retelling how absolutely reckless and fucking stupid the both of them were (Terry more than anyone else). Billy Grey was absolutely ecstatic when he listened to the story. The more suicidal and crazed you were, the more proud Billy will be of you. It was bad parenting at its best, for sure.

When it came to Angus and Terry, the two held the strangest of respect for the other, but that didn't mean the challenge was over. Oh no, it soon began to be who can out do the other. Angus rose in ranks of superiority and importance amongst the members for his ability to get any bike no matter how tight the security and make a profitable business out of it. They were beginning to get global connections and recognition. He was going to be the new Road Captain after Jim, if he kept it up. Terry fought back by gaining importance in his ability to pull whatever weapon out of thin air - for a sticky price, of course, to the buyer. Already people could see Terry as becoming a future sergeant-at-arms if he kept this up and expanded more.

It was a contest, and the gang watched in amusement at the two get at each other.

Angus played the aloof and cool air, while Terry moved about with a brash method. Water and fire. Go run with that cliche, ladies and gents.

Who would have thought it would have been one single move that would tick the older male off. The blonde sat comfortably on the couch playing poker with the boys, scratching at a new tattoo on his arm that itched insistently, when Terry's phone rang.

"You ruined my mojo," one of the bikers bemoaned.

"My mojo is _fucked_, Terry!" another one chimed in.

"Fuck your mojo, Brett!" Terry huffed before attending to the phone, giving a chuckle and a 'you bet' before hanging up. "Alright, ladies, I'm leaving. Don't cry too much." Tossing his cards down, he yanked his jacket on and walked off... Angus wasn't sure why that bothered him, but it did. Who the hell was he going to see? His old lady?

Who the fuck cares anyway, right?

Wrong.

It was three hours after he left and he was still pissed. Apparently he was out with Clay...again. It's been almost a year since Terry has been accepted as a brother of The Lost, and if there was anyone that Terry was close to...it certainly wasn't him. It was Clay. They finished each others' sentences, hung out nonstop, walked in-sync, did fucking everything together. It drove him nuts, and honestly he shouldn't care. Johnny was his closest friend out of the lot and he was satisfied hanging out with the man, but it ticked him off by how easily Terry could go off with Clay...

Perhaps he was being a bit too possessive over his rival...

Huffing in the cold air, he lit his sixth cigarette tonight and leaned against the wall, waiting for the dull roar of his bike. Just when he was about to go on his seventh cigarette, it came. There came Terry driving up and taking the side entrance as always, hand shoving his cellphone in his pocket.

"Oi! Angus, how are ya?" Terry grinned, the makings of a beard quite apparent on his young face. Honestly, the boy grew facial hair like a fucking turtle: slow as fuck. "Uh oh, who pissed ya off? Jim kick your ass in pool, again?" the dirty blonde teased, but Angus only flared his nostrils in anger before letting a fist fly.

Yes, it was very irrational. Usually he liked to use his dry wit and harsh insults as his first weapon of choice, but he was not in the mood for rhetoric. He just wanted to pound that fucker's face for being so goddamn...so goddamn... _Fuck_. Just so... Ugh, he didn't even know how to describe the frustration bursting out of him from the seams.

Terry snarled in response and tackled Angus onto the floor, struggling to pin his arms down, "What the fuck, man!" Angus only replied by ramming his head against Terry's, sending the youth stumbling back onto his rear, clutching at his head. The older male scrambled toward him, with the full intention to beat the fucking grin out of him, to only feel a hand push his head downward. Hissing, Terry used this to get back to his feet, hand reaching out to grab the scruff of his jacket and yank him onto his feet. "Calm the fuck down, Angus. You've been drinking?" Terry growled out, releasing him to watch his blonde friend stumble slightly before shaking his head angrily.

"Than what the fuck is the matter?"

"Where the fuck did you go?" Angus demanded, prowling about the side entrance like some provoked dog, hands clenching and unclenching.

"Who the fuck cares - "

His words were cut short when a body rammed him against the wall, forearm against his jugular. Terry stared quietly into the furious eyes of Angus, dark blonde brows furrowed, "I fucking care." Turning to the side and spitting into the loose dirt, he released Terry out of his hold and walked back into the clubhouse. He needed to sleep this off and was not in the mood to drive home to get it done. God knows how many civilians he would purposely run over.

Hopefully sleep will clear his clouded mind.

___I thread the needle through_** - xxx -** _You beat the devil's tattoo_  


Angus woke up with the jolt of nervous anticipation - that feeling that someone has been watching you and you just realized it now. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up hastily to see that his gut feeling was true. For there leaning against the closed door of the shabby room was Thorpe, arms crossed across his chest and gray eyes staring pensively at him.

Guilt washed over the older blonde, knowing he acted out childishly and not even out of a good reason. "Look," he was the first to break the silence, scooting toward the edge of the bed, "I fucked up. Alcohol and blow tends to do that to a man's brain -" Which was an absolute lie. He recalled only taking a swig of whiskey before smoking an entire pack of cigarettes outside in agitation. Angus was sober as could be in the clubhouse, and that was a fucking rarity when it comes to being a part of The Lost.

"So if you want to punch me square in the face, you got every right to," Angus continued on, eyes staring at the ground sullenly, feeling childish and stupid. There were better ways to handle things, and he fucked up royally by lashing out physically at Terry for no goddamn reason.

Who the fuck cared if Terry hung out with Clay? Why the fuck did it have to bother him so fucking much?

Grinding his teeth, he listened to Terry's footsteps approach him until he was staring quietly at his jean covered knees. Sighing softly through his nostrils, he turned his head upward, ready to feel a fist meet his jaw. The dirty blonde only stared down at him, those eyes of cloudy skies churning an ugly color that threatened and gnawed on his pupils. Lips parted to reveal teeth, like a mutt who wasn't sure whether to keep his trap closed or begin to bark ravenously. Bending forward, a hand reached out to grab the scruff of Angus' shirt, jerking him forward until their faces collided. The older blonde was waiting to feel blossoming pain, but instead he could feel his chest become exceedingly hot. As if he took a shot of his first, cheap-ass whiskey and it left his insides burning on fire. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, it was just...a feeling he couldn't claim to control whatsoever. Right now he was feeling the same exact thing and the interesting feeling of chapped lips against his own in some sort of sloppy kiss.

Angus remained stock still, eyes staring blankly at the face before him as Terry moved against his mouth. He _wanted _to push the brat away and snarl at him for being such a fruitcake. Yet, he couldn't help but feel awfully comforted. He was wrong. Terry was not at all _that _close to Clay after all. Angus _needed _to respond to what was occurring, and the reassurance that Terry held no extremely personal and intimate ties with Clay made him finally close his eyes.

Terry broke the kiss by hesitantly drawing back, and Angus could feel the awkward, kicked puppy face creeping on the younger male's face. Opening his eyes to stare at the worrisome and shameful look on the dirty blonde's face, he shook his head with a dark 'hmph' passing through his lips.

"Did I ask you to stop, Thorpe?"

Instantly Terry brightened and lunged back into the fray, lips attacking his in all earnest. The bike thief smirked into the kiss, before retaliating back, hands pushing Thorpe's jacket off of his shoulders. The dirty blonde understood and paused to disrobe himself of his jacket and shirt, revealing toned muscles working underneath taut skin. The Lost could do wonders on the body...and at the same time do much damage to it. Angus Martin admired the scar that tore across his side from the race those many months ago, tearing apart the image of an inked devil in half. Kissing the scarred tissue, calloused hands gripped the sides of his cleanly shaven face and gently pushed him away.

Giving one last look at the closed door, he sank onto his knees and began the slow process of taking his boots off. The bike thief snarled in impatience, about to yank his pants off in one movement when his hand was stopped instantly by Terry. The dirty blonde snarled heavily in response, teeth clicking against each other when he rammed his mouth against Angus'. It irked the older male how Terry believed he could have full reigns of what was occurring, but at least Terry movements were quickening from their tortuously slow, methodical methods.

Blood was already pooling down below before Terry kissed his clothed crotch, his boxers the only barrier between flesh and lips. He teased him, making him slowly begin to squirm in agitation, hands fisting into the dirty blanket underneath him.

"Patience makes perfect?" Terry grinned, and Angus only replied by giving his infamous frown.

It was a matter of painstaking seconds before his boxers were tossed into the black hole of this room to be replaced by Terry's mouth. _Holy fucking sweet mother of God._ This was absolutely wrong. Here he was biting his tongue to keep himself from moaning out in bliss from another man giving him head _in _The Lost's clubhouse during one of its busiest hours. Bikers walked and roamed about the clubhouse, and only a flimsy door protected them from view. But fucking shit was Terry something else. Maybe it was from being a guy he knew what to pay attention to and what not to do. Maybe the kid had experience in this kind of shit. All he knew for certain was that he felt like there was a sweltering fucking sun in the core of his body. All he knew for certain was that the feel of tongue against sensitive skin along with the faint sensation of teeth scraping (as if almost a warning) made his eyes want to roll into the back of his head.

Although, he would not take for this kind of bullshit of him not having an ounce of control in this. So when Terry drew away for air, Angus did not hesitate once to stand up, yank Terry onto his feet to only promptly shove him onto the stacked mattress. Slipping out of his own jacket and shirt, his lean body towered over Terry's muscular frame as he took the rest of his clothes off before the thief.

Clicking his tongue, he made a gesture with his finger for the youth to turn over. Terry stared back at him, as if about to challenge his authority before following directions. Back exposed to Angus, the older male admired at the large outline of the back of a skeleton, finger running down the painted spine toward his rear.

He hesitated, a moment of indecision gripping him at the consequences of this afterward. How was he supposed to deal with Terrence Thorpe after this? As if nothing happened or -

"Did I ask you to stop, Mr. Martin?" Terry shot back his own words from before, and Angus huffed and ran a hand through his short hair.

"Patience makes perfect, Thorpe," Angus slung back before mercilessly shoving himself into the younger Lost member. He would deal with the repercussions of this event later... Much later... He had things to deal with at the moment, if you don't mind.

___I thread the needle through_** - xxx -** _You beat the devil's tattoo_  


It was supposed to be some sort of...one-night stand/fling/experiment/godknowswhatthefucktocallit. Instead they were becoming each other's favorite waste of time. When hanging out at the clubhouse becomes repetitive or days are slow, Terry would be the one to discreetly suggest they go to whoever's house was the closest.

That was fine and all...but it was destined to die, eventually. Yet despite the fact Terry went off to marry some feisty brunette and get a divorce at the age of twenty-six (all in the same year, mind you), they were still at it. They bore a dysfunctional relationship that no one was aware of, to the point where they felt obligated to be the other's bodyguard. While it is a must to watch out for your brothers' back, in a brawl Angus will focus solely on making sure _Terry_ walked out unscathed. Terry would do the same, to the point where the two simply moved about in-sync, a lethal duo wherever they went.

Yet Angus knew when to back off to keep suspicion and rumors at bay. While it pissed him off to hear rumors and jokes of Clay and Terry having a thing, it kept him reassured that the truth was hidden so deeply.

"I can't believe I missed America's Top Hooker for this bullshit," Terry whined as he walked into the clubhouse, clutching the back of his neck tightly. "How can I continue to call myself an American if I can't watch Roxy get paid to have sex with a man on a Burger Shot booth?"

"I can't believe you watch that shit," Angus grumbled behind him, motioning for the bartender to give him the bottle of whiskey and the first aid kit. Terry was supposed to pick up a shipment of illegal firearms, but the pickup was a bust. The cops were playing strings in the background the entire time, and the two barely escaped with their lives and the money they were supposed to give.

Terry was the new Sergeant-at-Arms but the fucking idiot tended to be a pussy when it came to haggling without him around. Angus wasn't sure if Terry felt he needed to prove to him he had balls in front of him or what. Regardless, he would have came with Terry whether he was needed or not. Common courtesy and all.

"It's pretty good!" he defended poorly, "Plus it beats being outside in the cold waiting for fucking nothing! Told you the cops are fucking everywhere!"

Angus rolled his eyes and shook his head. Paranoid Terry was a chatterbox. He could go on for hours on how the government is monitoring everyone's moves every single second. Angus didn't have the heart to tell Terry he was absolutely right, and that one way or another there was someone watching their every move that could be bought off by the government. So instead he listened to Terry jabber on about America's Top Hooker and how he religiously calls for his favorite hooker - claiming her success is all because of him.

So apparently because Roxy can suck a twelve inch dick like a black hole and win the challenge, the thanks should fall on Terry. He helped aid Roxy in sucking that dick. There was something incredibly bizarre and questionable about that kind of logic, but Angus didn't feel that pointing that out would help anyone. After all, he was a bit more concerned with the fact Terry was bleeding profusely from his abdomen but was too busy clutching at his nipped neck and televised hookers.

"Sit down, asshole," Angus sighed when they reached the upstairs bathroom, yanking a chair that was overturned outside the doors inside the tiled room. Motioning for him to sit, he placed the whiskey and first aid kit on the sink's counter. Wetting a towel, he critically stared at the jabbering Terry who carefully sat down, "Strip."

Terry paused in speech, gave a sleezy grin as he leaned forward slightly. "Oh you romantic, do you say this to all the young boys you fuck?" Terry teased, fanning himself as if it was hot in the room before slipping off his jacket and his shirt. The older blonde merely responded by prodding at the wound on his neck, earning a whine in distress.

"Keep it up, and I'll stick my fingers in places you wouldn't like," Angus breathed out darkly, irked and annoyed at the sight he saw before him. Terry was bleeding all over the floor, and it was a testament to how he ultimately failed his 'brother.' He made an oath to make sure Terry leaves out of every situation unscathed or with a minor scrape whenever he was around. He failed. He left with bruises and a black eye, and Terry left with a gunshot wound and a nicked neck.

Fucking embarrassing.

"I am oddly turned on and frightened," Terry cheekily replied as he watched Angus crouch down before him to clean up his abdomen. It didn't take long for Terry's mood to take a dive, the younger male cursing violently at him as he tried to lodge the bullet out of his flesh. Paranoid Terry and Wounded Terry were two in the same: chatterboxes about frivolities and useless knowledge/thoughts. While other men came in gritting their teeth about their injuries and trying to fight back the tears of a deadly wound they just won, Terry chatted.

Angus found it endearing at times when it isn't on his watch and Clay or Jim are patching him up. When it is on his watch? He was a pissed and worried mess.

But in a matter of an hour, Terry consumed most of the bottle of whiskey (that was meant to disinfect the wound, but whatever) and was slopped on the couch in front of the TV. Only two channels and he drunkenly bemoaned over the sad fact that they didn't have cable.

So instead he opted to watching the history channel, enthralled over the information being given to him, his body inching towards his own the entire time. The older blonde couldn't help but give a helpless smirk as Terry rested his head against his shoulder.

"You're such a pain in the ass," Angus finally sighed out, boldly allowing his arm to wrap around the younger male's shoulders. A brief glance at the empty hallway and quiet clubhouse put his worried nerves at ease.

"But I'm your pain in the ass!" came the drunken response in utter glee, and Angus could only silently nod his head in agreement.

He wouldn't have it any other way. By far, Terry was his favorite waste of time.

* * *

_Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review! _

**Author's Notes: **

**1) **Here are just some facts that I took down when I wrote this fic. Angus Martin was born in 1975, and currently he is 33 years old. Terry was born in 1977, and currently is 31 years old. Terry became a member in 1996 at the age of 19. Meaning Billy has been president for three years so far (seeing he became president in 1993). Obviously Clay and Angus work closely when it comes to getting bikes and stealing bikes (seeing Clay is the Road Captain), but I have a hunch Angus totally would have Clay's job if it wasn't for the accident with his legs. Way to go, Billy!

**2) **I have face models for younger Angus and Terry. The link will be up on my bio page, if anyone is interested. Thanks again for reading and reviewing!


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